Post by Athos\Porthos\Aramis on Feb 18, 2015 12:50:55 GMT -5
Cardinal Richelieu crouched over his desk, his body tense and his face filled with concern, while he contemplated his affairs.
He'd noticed over time how the King's reign over France were balancing on a very thin line - a line which trembled ever more with the growing contempt that His majesty recieved, as groups of rebels formed themselves within the borders of the state; supporting and yet being supported by the King's enemies abroad.
A number of Richelieu's agents had informed their master about precise plans being made which could easily cause the untimely death of King Louis XIII - unless, of course his loyal chief minister somehow were to thwarth their plans using excessive force against these villains, all while strengthening the protective measures set up around the King.
It was exactly this that he intended to do, and he knew how best to set these wheels in motion. The cardinal looked carefully through his papers, noting down the names and addresses of people whose assistance he required.
The musketeers were already a strong force of skilled warriors, all of them ready to shed their blood for the sake of their King, if the need arose.
Yet given the impending threat against the man's safety and his throne, Richelieu were going to risk nothing. That was why he had ordered the archives containing the names of every man ever associated with this warforce brought to his chambers.
His grey eyes sought the names of the men who, for various reasons, were no longer serving their honorable duty as musketeers.
Some of them had simply grown too old to be of much use in this - or any other instance. But men that had reached such a high age could often be found to have produced sons.
As he worked his way through the records holding the information he needed, Richelieu paused a moment when he spotted a particular name, just a little way down the list.
Jean-Claude d'Artagnan... According to additional papers, the man had a son, born 15 years ago. The boy's name appeared to be Louis, which the minister found to be an oddly appropriate name for a future musketeer in service of the current monarch This young man might prove exactly what he needed.
Cardinal Richelieu smiled faintly while he started to compose a letter of demand adressed to the Messieurs d'Artagnan, where he strongly requested that young Louis may be sent to join the musketeers as soon as possible.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The letter was brought by a swift courier to the d'Artagnan family estate within a number of days. Jean-Claude himself, who had been tending to some necessities outdoors as the messenger arrived, accepted the piece of parchment when the man offered it to him.
The aging family man recognized at once the familiar seal which adorned the carefully wrapped message, and his hands started to slightly tremble from the rush of emotion running through his body while the memories of past times re-entered his mind as clear as had they happened yesterday.
It was not fear that he felt upon eyeing the symbol of the musketeers greeting him from the clump of wax - rather it was an overwhelming sense of joy and excitement.
Jean-Claude knew, as a past musketeer himself, the dangers one risked facing on behalf of his king, yet as he found himself reminiscing the time he had spend actively serving the previous ruler, all the perils he'd ben through had achieved a golden lining.
They were the adventures he had shared with men he had come to greatly respect - whose friendship had meant the world to him. And though some of his priorities had changed over the years - as he chose his beloved wife and the prospect of starting a family over the restless life of a soldier - Jean-Claude still found his heart beat faster by the thought of his years as a young man; as he told all these stories to his young child, as he grew up...
This letter would mean something extraordinary, he could feel it from the bottom of his heart even before he had opened it.
After all, there were only so many reasons why the leader of the musketeers would have bothered to send him a message carrying the order's official insignia.
And the old man weren't disappointed once he broke the seal and carefully read the Cardinal's handwriting.
My son, Louis...They want my son to join the musketeers!
The thought filled his heart with joy, and a broad smile had already appeared on his thin face when he scampered off to find the young teen in question. "Loooouuuuisaaaa!" he called, his voice thick with the pride and excitement he felt in this moment. "Lou, come have a look at this!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The air was briskly echoing the sounds of shouting men, and the clink and clamor of sharp steele smashing against its target upon the training field of the musketeers.
Glints of silver flew like lightning, reflected in the bright rays of the sun, while a hundred pairs of boots danced across the muddy ground; either dashing out of reach of their partner's blade or swiftly making a counter-attack merely for the sake of practice.
Athos found himself the unlucky victim of circumstances, being locked in mock combat with a pug-faced youth with an unsteady hand.
The more experienced musketeer sighed to himself as the young fellow dropped his rapier for God-knew-what-time, tossing an envious gaze towards Aramis and Porthos, whose skills were both an even match for the other.
The two friends seemed to enjoy a hearty session in each other's company, at some distance away from the third member of their close-knit trio.
The pair was easily located, even in an area crowded with their collegues, as Athos well recognized the characteristic laugh of Porthos, when the man launched a particularly successful blow. However, Aramis had no intention to stand by and wait while his friend flattered himself over his small victory. The would-be cleric regained the upper hand within a quick moment, making good use of his weapon, and of Porthos momentary weakness...
Athos grinned to himself before returning his attention to the young amateur at hand.
"Pick up your sword!" he ordered sternly. "And stop fumbling about. If you hope to become the great musketeer that your father and uncle once was, you need to be a lot quicker. And more precise" Giving the young man a short moment to prepare himself, Athos visually carried on with further instructions, allowing the young trainee to learn his lesson through physical experience.
He'd noticed over time how the King's reign over France were balancing on a very thin line - a line which trembled ever more with the growing contempt that His majesty recieved, as groups of rebels formed themselves within the borders of the state; supporting and yet being supported by the King's enemies abroad.
A number of Richelieu's agents had informed their master about precise plans being made which could easily cause the untimely death of King Louis XIII - unless, of course his loyal chief minister somehow were to thwarth their plans using excessive force against these villains, all while strengthening the protective measures set up around the King.
It was exactly this that he intended to do, and he knew how best to set these wheels in motion. The cardinal looked carefully through his papers, noting down the names and addresses of people whose assistance he required.
The musketeers were already a strong force of skilled warriors, all of them ready to shed their blood for the sake of their King, if the need arose.
Yet given the impending threat against the man's safety and his throne, Richelieu were going to risk nothing. That was why he had ordered the archives containing the names of every man ever associated with this warforce brought to his chambers.
His grey eyes sought the names of the men who, for various reasons, were no longer serving their honorable duty as musketeers.
Some of them had simply grown too old to be of much use in this - or any other instance. But men that had reached such a high age could often be found to have produced sons.
As he worked his way through the records holding the information he needed, Richelieu paused a moment when he spotted a particular name, just a little way down the list.
Jean-Claude d'Artagnan... According to additional papers, the man had a son, born 15 years ago. The boy's name appeared to be Louis, which the minister found to be an oddly appropriate name for a future musketeer in service of the current monarch This young man might prove exactly what he needed.
Cardinal Richelieu smiled faintly while he started to compose a letter of demand adressed to the Messieurs d'Artagnan, where he strongly requested that young Louis may be sent to join the musketeers as soon as possible.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The letter was brought by a swift courier to the d'Artagnan family estate within a number of days. Jean-Claude himself, who had been tending to some necessities outdoors as the messenger arrived, accepted the piece of parchment when the man offered it to him.
The aging family man recognized at once the familiar seal which adorned the carefully wrapped message, and his hands started to slightly tremble from the rush of emotion running through his body while the memories of past times re-entered his mind as clear as had they happened yesterday.
It was not fear that he felt upon eyeing the symbol of the musketeers greeting him from the clump of wax - rather it was an overwhelming sense of joy and excitement.
Jean-Claude knew, as a past musketeer himself, the dangers one risked facing on behalf of his king, yet as he found himself reminiscing the time he had spend actively serving the previous ruler, all the perils he'd ben through had achieved a golden lining.
They were the adventures he had shared with men he had come to greatly respect - whose friendship had meant the world to him. And though some of his priorities had changed over the years - as he chose his beloved wife and the prospect of starting a family over the restless life of a soldier - Jean-Claude still found his heart beat faster by the thought of his years as a young man; as he told all these stories to his young child, as he grew up...
This letter would mean something extraordinary, he could feel it from the bottom of his heart even before he had opened it.
After all, there were only so many reasons why the leader of the musketeers would have bothered to send him a message carrying the order's official insignia.
And the old man weren't disappointed once he broke the seal and carefully read the Cardinal's handwriting.
My son, Louis...They want my son to join the musketeers!
The thought filled his heart with joy, and a broad smile had already appeared on his thin face when he scampered off to find the young teen in question. "Loooouuuuisaaaa!" he called, his voice thick with the pride and excitement he felt in this moment. "Lou, come have a look at this!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The air was briskly echoing the sounds of shouting men, and the clink and clamor of sharp steele smashing against its target upon the training field of the musketeers.
Glints of silver flew like lightning, reflected in the bright rays of the sun, while a hundred pairs of boots danced across the muddy ground; either dashing out of reach of their partner's blade or swiftly making a counter-attack merely for the sake of practice.
Athos found himself the unlucky victim of circumstances, being locked in mock combat with a pug-faced youth with an unsteady hand.
The more experienced musketeer sighed to himself as the young fellow dropped his rapier for God-knew-what-time, tossing an envious gaze towards Aramis and Porthos, whose skills were both an even match for the other.
The two friends seemed to enjoy a hearty session in each other's company, at some distance away from the third member of their close-knit trio.
The pair was easily located, even in an area crowded with their collegues, as Athos well recognized the characteristic laugh of Porthos, when the man launched a particularly successful blow. However, Aramis had no intention to stand by and wait while his friend flattered himself over his small victory. The would-be cleric regained the upper hand within a quick moment, making good use of his weapon, and of Porthos momentary weakness...
Athos grinned to himself before returning his attention to the young amateur at hand.
"Pick up your sword!" he ordered sternly. "And stop fumbling about. If you hope to become the great musketeer that your father and uncle once was, you need to be a lot quicker. And more precise" Giving the young man a short moment to prepare himself, Athos visually carried on with further instructions, allowing the young trainee to learn his lesson through physical experience.